


Rose

by danceswithhamsters01



Series: 14 Days of Dragon Age Lover's prompts, 2020 edition [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Marriage Proposal, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Zevran Arainai, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22675090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01
Summary: From the 14 Days of Dragon Age Lover's prompts list!#1: Rose.A look at Zevran's thoughts and feelings before he offers Sevarra Amell The Earring.
Relationships: Female Amell/Zevran Arainai, Zevran Arainai/Female Warden
Series: 14 Days of Dragon Age Lover's prompts, 2020 edition [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631200
Kudos: 10





	Rose

It has been three days since we “took care of” Taliesen. My mind has not been the most tranquil of places in that time. As much as I want to deny it, there is pain. Yes, I wish he had stayed back in Antiva. Yes, I wish things hadn’t come to what they did, but they did. The past is the past. Besides, barring an intervention from the Maker himself, there’s no way that he and my Warden would’ve gotten along.

The sunlight gleaming in from the window makes dapples of light on the deep blue blankets covering the bed. It has been three days since we shared a bed. Her side remains neat, untouched. Sleep has been a challenge. Rolling over in the night and reaching out only to find empty space has not been pleasant. Both her absence and the fact that I got so used to her being there to hold at night bother me. Confounded? Yes, I am confounded. Everything I’ve been taught keeps clashing with what I’ve experienced in this cold, muddy backwater of a kingdom.

I sigh and stop pacing. Instead, I sink down onto the bed, sprawling out. The sunbeam feels pleasantly warm on my bare feet and calves. Without thinking of it, the earring is unfastened and I’m rolling it in my fingers. At first glance, it’s just a plain golden loop. But if you look closely, you can see the delicate engraving swirling around it and the tiny gems placed as if they were flowers on a vine. It is a trophy from my very first job as a Crow. I’d offered it to her in the aftermath of the fight, our weapons and armor still wet with the blood of my former brothers-in-arms. I can still recall seeing Leliana’s eyes widening from the corner of my eye, ideas for a song no doubt swirling about in her mind. I told my Warden to take it, either to keep or sell. It isn’t every day that a man is freed from service to the Crows.

My Warden asked me if there was sentiment behind the gift. I am not the wisest of men. I said something about a kindness needing to be rewarded. I can still clearly remember the small disappointed frown she had after hearing that.

“Keep it,” my Sevarra said as she carefully closed the fingers of the hand I held out to her. “I… I prefer gifts with thought behind them, that… mean something.”

Leliana looked as deflated as I felt.

I still feel a little -- what’s the word? -- ashamed? Perhaps embarrassed? I was more snippy than necessary at her answer.

Later that night, she slinked into the room in a silky dressing gown, that certain playful twinkle in her eye. She asked if I wanted a rub down or perhaps “a little tumble” to celebrate my good fortune. I was feeling petty over the earring. I turned her down. When she asked if I wished to talk, I snapped. I didn’t touch her, I only raised my voice, but she flinched as if struck. She hasn’t been back to the room or said a word to me since.

I sigh and pull on my boots. Staying in here isn’t going to solve anything. I head to the library. With any luck, perhaps she’ll be there. She can no more ignore a book than a moth can ignore a flame. But when I get there, I find only Leliana.

_Brasca._

“Have you seen the Warden today?”

Leliana arches a brow. “Which one?”

I almost say ‘MY Warden,’ but catch myself. “You know who I mean, dear Leliana.”

She has a cheeky smirk. “You can find Alistair in his usual spot. The Arl rarely lets him out of his sight these days.”

Before I can retort, she scoops up a tome and leaves the room. Annoyed, I head for Alistair’s holding cell, better known as the Arl’s study. Peeking in, I find that both he and the Arl are present, Eamon droning on about something I could not care less about. I sidle up to Alistair.

“Hello, my dear Alistair! Perchance you know the whereabouts of your fellow Warden, yes?” I smile.

He sighs. “Maker’s breath. What did she do _this time?_ It was awkward enough explaining the dead bodies and the damage to the market from the last time to the city guard.”

Ah. Taliesen’s attack. He’d brought more than a few underlings with him. It wasn’t our fault that he was stupid enough to attack a Grey Warden who happened to be a mage. Bad things tend to happen to people who attack mages or Wardens. Sometimes bad things happen to the surrounding area in the course of defending one’s life and comrades. Sevarra had no way of knowing that one of the kiosks was selling lamp oil when one of her lightning bolts went astray and hit it, setting it aflame.

“As far as I know, nothing untoward has happened since then, I merely wish to know her present location.”

He blinks a few times. An unsaid _You don’t know?_ is written in his features. “Well, last I heard, she’d gone into town in search of reagents of some sort. Took Morrigan and the dwarf with her. That was this morning.”

I head for the gate, leaving Alistair in the Arl’s company. Standing in the mostly-repaired market square, I envy Alistair for the briefest of moments for his ability to sense his fellow Warden. “A Grey Warden thing,” he called it. Being able to do that would make my search so much simpler. Rather than waste any more time moping, I duck down an alley and scale up the side of a building. Once on the roof, I scan the area from my perch. A smithy, several fruit stands, a tavern, multiple stands selling arms and armor meet my eye.

A brief flash of pink and red catches my eye. I squint as I find it again. An elven woman with a shock of pure white hair is smiling and chatting with a customer by her cart. Her painted wagon is nearly overflowing with flowers. She waves goodbye to the man while she counts the coins he gave her. He has a small handful of roses with paper wrapped around their stems. A thought comes to me, followed by a smile.

“Good afternoon, my dear,” I smile as I appear behind the flower vendor several minutes later.

“Oh, dear Maker! You startled me!” she says as she clutches her chest and turns around. “How may I help you?”

“I am in search of something for someone special. Someone I may have unintentionally upset.”

She chuckles, her eyes crinkle and the crows feet show her age. She is no spring chicken but still very comely. “Is this ‘someone’ of yours a lady?”

I nod.

“Flowers make for a good peace offering,” she smiles.

“Do they, now? Well, then. How many will this buy?” I press a few coins into her hand.

She looks at her palm in shock. “This could buy the entire cart and then some, ser.”

I’d given her gold coins. Sevarra was insistent that everyone get an equal share of the loot we happened upon in our travels. I’d sold one of the daggers we’d found in the Brecilian forest for a good sum the previous day. I wouldn’t miss it, I have 8 more.

**

Leliana goes bug-eyed when she sees me and the flower merchant carrying my purchases toward the stairs leading to my quarters.

“What are you doing, Zevran?!” she asks.

“Working on an idea.” Was that not obvious?

“What sort of an idea?” she presses, looking at the flowers with suspicion.

“One that needs to be kept under wraps for now. I am certain I can trust your discretion, yes?” I press a yellow rose her way. I could spare it, I had dozens more in several colors.

She arches a brow, but takes the rose, twirling the stem between finger and thumb. “I better not regret this.”

I laugh and retreat toward my quarters.

**

Normally, I am good at waiting. I like to think that I’ve perfected finding the right moment to strike. It’s served me well on many a contract. But this is different. This is maddening. It feels like I’ve been staking out the main door for hours waiting for her. My stomach feels fluttery. It’s annoying.

The door bursts open. I can smell Oghren’s “unique” aroma.

“No! For the last time, Oghren, you cannot hook Fang to a chariot! He’s a war hound, not a pony!”

I haven’t heard that voice in three days. _Mi amora._

“Bah! It’ll be a war chariot! Totally different!” the dwarf shoots back.

“The answer is still no. He’s for fighting, not lugging things around.” Sevarra vanishes into the kitchens before I find wits enough to catch her eye.

“No one appreciates a good idea around here!” Oghren mutters as he finds his way toward the larder, no doubt to help himself to more ale.

A pair of gold eyes and a smirk greet me next.

“ ‘Twould seem the silence continues?”

How did she know about that? I furrow my brows.

Morrigan draws close enough to whisper. “Know this, little man: Hurt her and I shall end you.” With that, she strolls away, a new tome under her arm.

I wait a little while and then follow her. The sounds of soft chatter and the clinking of small glass containers reach my ears. I peer from the doorframe. Morrigan spots me, but says nothing, returning her attention to the potions and tonics she and Sevarra are crafting. My amora’s back is to me, unaware of being watched. I slip away. She’ll be occupied for quite some time, no doubt.

It’s several hours before my dear Warden is alone. Or so she thinks.

“Ah, there you are!” I call out as she is leaving the Arl’s study.

Her face says it all. Her eyes hold a brief flash of longing before it’s hidden away by a wave of uncertainty. “Yes. Here I am. I… I should be going. Lots to do, people’s hair to stay out of, and all that.”

She tries to dodge to the side and walk past me. I follow. She heads for the library, grabs a tome and pretends to read it at a corner table. I sit across from her. She looks up after several minutes.

“What.” It’s more a statement than a question. Her voice has an edge.

I don’t know where to begin. My tongue has betrayed me. Instead, I place a rose over the book laying open in front of her. Confusion creeps into her hard gaze, softening it. The temperature has not dropped, nor have any bo-staffs been pulled out, so it is safe to assume that I am safe, at least for the moment.

“It occurs to me that I was less than… polite the last time we spoke,” I finally force my mouth to say.

She casts her gaze downward as if to stare through the wooden table and at her hands now folded in her lap. From the corner of my eye, I spot Leliana, somewhat concealed by a bookcase several rows away. The sight of her brings to mind seagulls circling fishing boats, waiting for stray fish. I take care to not let on that I’d seen her.

“Perhaps we might speak in private?” I say.

For a brief moment, I see the hesitation in her face as if she were debating with herself. A soft “very well” tumbles from her lips.

We rise and make for the stairs. I have to fight the urge to look squarely at where I know Leliana is hiding and stick my tongue out. I have more important things to deal with than sassing the bard. My amora blinks as we find ourselves by the door to the room we’d shared until recently. She looks at me with eyes filled with questions. I open the door just a little bit.

“Please, come in.”

She stands there blinking, chewing on her lip. Finally, I reach for her hand and gently lead her in. Her eyes go wide as she takes in the scene. There are roses over every flat surface in the room: the desk, the tables, the window sills, even the bed. The room is exploding with red, pink, and yellow blooms and green leaves. A slight blush colors her pale cheeks.

“Either someone broke in and covered your room in roses, or you had an epic battle with several rose bushes.” She chuckles lamely at her own joke.

I don’t like the sound of “your room.” It’s not mine, it was supposed to be ours. I clear space for us to sit in after piling several handfuls of flowers on to the table, freeing up a pair of chairs. We have several false starts, both of us trying to speak at the same time and then apologetically stopping. The seconds tick by painfully.

She stands up slowly, hesitation in her eyes. “Perhaps I should g--”

I’m out of my chair before I realize it and capture her hand. “No. Wait, please.”

She looks from my hand to my arm, and then to my face. “You seem different,” she says in a soft voice.

“Are you certain you wish to talk about this? I am finding myself at a loss for words,” I say.

“You asked me to come speak with you in private. I am here,” she points out. “While I am desirous to know what has changed, whether or not you wish to talk about it is entirely up to you. I cannot read minds, Zevran.” A hint of irritation colors her voice.

“Very well.” I take a deep breath and begin again. “An assassin must learn to forget about sentiment; it is dangerous. You take your pleasures where you can when life is good. To expect anything more would be reckless. I thought it was the same between us: something to enjoy, a pleasant diversion and little more. And yet...”

I can see her guard beginning to melt away. She closes her eyes after I speak, as if in deep thought. After a little while, she slowly looks at me again.

“Are you saying that you’re in love? With me?” she asks, voice delicate and tremulous.

“I don’t know, how would you know such a thing?” I answer. I cannot help but feel as if I’m about to wade into battle in nothing more than what the Maker gave me at birth.

She reaches a hand toward me, resting it on my arm, her thumb lightly caressing one of my tattoos. A portion of my unease dissolves, but not all of it.

“I grew up amongst those who sold the illusion of love and then I was trained to make my heart cold in favor of the kill. Everything I have been taught says what I feel is wrong. Yet, I cannot help it. Since you last asked me about having a tumble, I have been nothing but confused. Do you understand me at all?”

“I had feelings for you long before we ever spent a night together,” she confesses. “E-even before we’d had a proper kiss.”

Curiosity prods me to ask: “How long?”

Her cheeks flare crimson. “Since leaving Orzammar, probably sooner. I don’t exactly have a good track record. Bad things seem to happen to the people I love. One was taken away, never to be seen again. The other… well, you saw him with your own eyes. It made me think that I was bad luck.”

She takes a deep breath. “Even with all the fighting and killing and the being scared to death that something bad could happen to you, I just kept falling for you. I-I love you.”

The last person to tell me that… no. She is not Rinna. She is stronger, more clever. And Taliesen is no longer around to tell lies. My stomach feels fluttery again. I dig deep in search of more courage. I lay my hand on hers.

“All I need to know is if there might be some future for us, some possibility of… I do not know what.”

She meets my gaze and softly answers, “I hope so.”

My heart thuds painfully in my ears. I fumble in my coin purse and palm a delicate loop.

“I still have the earring. I would like to give it to you, as a token of affection. Will you take it?” I hold the earring out to her in the palm of my hand, the little purple and red gems catching in the light.

A tiny gasp escapes her as she looks at it. “That sounds like a proposal.”

“It is. If you wish it.”

She flashes a radiant smile and lets loose an ecstatic laugh. “I will. And yes.”

I feel light, as if heavy chains holding me down were shattered, as if I could walk on air. “Then that is enough for me. I am sorry for acting so strangely. I think I will be better now, much better.”

The next thing I know, she’s trying to snog me senseless. An idea comes to me. I scoop her up and carry her to the bed, eliciting laughter I haven’t heard in far too long. Plopping her on to the bed makes an assortment of petals fly into the air, which does nothing to quiet her giggling. I waggle my brows and crawl over, intent on catching up on the kissing I’ve missed out on for the past several days.

Later that evening, at supper, Leliana spots the loop in Sevarra’s ear and shoots me a look that says, “You will tell me everything. Or else.”


End file.
